out of gas

He walked in the door from work last night and said, "Guess what, I can't get any gasoline." He'd stopped at four stations on the way home and everyone was out. What's going on? we wondered. It'd been a week since the blizzard so why would they be out now?

We hopped in his truck on a family expedition to find some gas. His light had just come on so we figured we had at least 20 miles left. My car was running on fumes, too. Just a mile from home we cruised into a station where only half the fuel dispensers were covered up. "Whew! We made it!" we sighed, but as he was getting out to gas up the attendant came over the intercom, "Attention all customers! We are out of gas!" He hopped back in and we brainstormed on where the next closest station was. As we got closer we tried to swallow our panic as we saw lines of cars wrapped around it. It was the same at the next and the next. We turned on the radio to see if the news was explaining what was going on. They were not. We decided we'd better turn towards home before we ran out and had to walk with three boys in the snow. My husband was tense with worry and I wondered: How would I get our two year-old to his morning doctor appointment? How would my husband get to work?

We made it home and made some calls. The station near us said they expected a gas delivery around 10pm. First thing this morning my husband (hero) went out in the cold and filled up both our vehicles. The gas attendant said she was going to be out again by 8am. We'd just made it!

But it's hard to breathe a sigh of relief. The repercussions of the blizzard have struck a chord of panic in me. I've been struggling with fears about what will happen when there's another terrorist attack and I think we've seen a small glimpse of it this week. After the storm the grocery store was almost empty. I rolled the cart down aisles depleted of bread, milk, bananas, meats. We had no mail delivery for a couple of days (gasp!) and we haven't had trash pick-up in two weeks. All minor inconveniences, and livable because we know it won't last forever. But imaginging it on a larger scale is terrifying. It wouldn't take much to cause panic among the masses and a run on food, gas and other supplies. And when you have three young children to worry about, it makes it even more disturbing. We keep extra water and food on hand at all times, but if there was some kind of attack that disrupted the finely tuned system we rely on, how long could we make it in suburbia? There would be mayhem and violence in a battle for survival. It is not a far fetched idea. Not anymore.

Thank goodness we have friends who live in a more secluded area in the mountains with a well as a water supply. Our plan is to head for the hills if something ever goes wrong. That's assuming we have gasoline.

When I hear people screaming that this war is all about oil, I ask them: How do you plan to get to work tomorrow? How do you plan to get your child to the doctor? Or bring your groceries home? How do you think your groceries even get to the store? It wasn't in a hybrid two-door coupe.

Maybe it is about oil. Like it or not, we have to have it. Unless our way of life suddenly changes back into a village system where we can all walk to work and everywhere else we need to go, that's just the way it will be. It will be years before alternate energy sources take up some of the slack. And since we are not allowed to drill for much of the oil in the Gulf of Mexico or Alaska, we will have to hope that all the nutcases in Iran and North Korea and Venezuela will keep their nuttiness to themselves and not screw with us. We can always dream, can't we?

that's what i like about him

We went to Wal-Mart today looking for a couple of new shovels. Last week's blizzard did ours in as well the one we borrowed from our neighbors. Thankfully it wasn't too crowded, but still, herding three small boys around a super store isn't always easy. They have a tendency to get distracted (who doesn't?) and stop in the middle of the aisle usually right in front of an elderly person with no patience for small people. I'm constantly reminding them,

"Watch out! Pay attention to your surroundings!"

and apologizing to the people who have to stop their carts to keep from running them over. They usually smile tight little smiles of annoyance and keep moving. The boys have no clue they're causing a traffic jam.

So today as we were making our way through to the shovel section I said, "Watch out, Clayton. You're in his way," referring to the ornery man glaring at us. Clayton grudgingly moved to the side and muttered loud enough for all to hear, "Noooo...he's in our way!"

And I thought, "Damn right!" Who's to say that we are in their way??? Everyone has such a sense of entitlement these days and I vow to not raise self-centered children, but he has a point. Why should we always be the ones to go around other people? Why should we duck our heads in polite submission to all the people in such a big hurry? They don't own that store! We're spending our money just like they are. So screw it. I've been trying to raise polite children but in the meantime sending them the message that we have less rights than everyone else. That we are "in the way". No more.

If only I had the confidence and spunk of my four-year old son. That boy is going to go places.

christmas surprise

Part of the reason I've dropped off of the blogging radar for most of the past month is that I've had some "projects" going on. Christmas projects. I really wanted most of my gifts this year to be original and made by me. I managed to do a couple of paintings and then...there's the desk.

A couple of months ago my oldest son said he wanted his own desk because he just didn't have enough space to draw. So the wheels started turning and since then I've been working on it bit by bit. Since it was a secret I couldn't work on it during the day since I have an entourage following me around the house every waking moment. So I worked on it at night in the basement. The cold, cold basement.

I started with a desk I found on craigslist for $35. When my husband sanded it for me he discovered that it's made of mohogany. I love good old finds!! I wanted something with good "bones" for starters. They just don't make furniture like they used to. Here is the beginning product:





And here is the end result of hours and hours in the cold, cold basement:





I based it on a theme of exploring the mountains, seas and space. I decoupaged his face and his brothers onto the fishermen and the scuba diver finding treasures under the water. Around the desktop I painted in gold: create, love, imagine, smile, believe, sing, dream, give, be, think, draw, write, rest, paint, wonder, play, read, laugh, explore, fly.



On Christmas morning he saw it but didn't get as excited as I'd hoped...but later in the day he was already at work:



So it was worth it all, even if Santa got all the credit. Now I just need to paint the chair...

shame on me

Last weekend we went for a visit to my sister's and a trip to nearby Boulder, Colorado. It's an ecclectic little college town with colorful people and an artsy atmosphere.

We took the boys to the Pearl Street Mall which is an experience in itself. It's a cobblestone street lined with quaint little shops. Street performers abound with magic tricks, balloon animals and music. It's really interesting and a great place to go if you like to "people watch". But mixed into the festive atmosphere there is another side, a less fortunate side. Unlike the suburban neighborhood we live in, there are beggars, addicts and other darker elements out on the street. There are wheelchair bound cripples who can hardly speak. One man who appeared to have burn scars over most of his body had a sign taped to his wheelchair asking for money to help pay his $300 rent.

When you're out to have fun and shop for presents for your family and friends, seeing these people is not something that makes you very comfortable. You avert your eyes. Or you smile kindly and hand over the small pocket change you have. Who carries cash any more anyway? you ask youself, trying to justify your greed. And if you give to one, you'll have to give to all. And don't they get enough hand outs from all the wealthy Boulder residents?

While my sister went into a shop I stayed in the courtyard with the boys to let them burn off some energy. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a homeless man sitting in the grass. He had a backpack and sleeping bag and seemed to be in his own little world. He was pressing on the ground with his hands and mumbling, almost like he was praying. His hair and beard were gray and oily looking and his clothes tattered. My oldest son noticed him and came over to me.

"Mom, what is he doing?"

"Well, he doesn't have a home to go to so he sleeps out here."

His blue eyes widened and he walked away. It was very, very cold and the sun had not even gone down yet. I could see him thinking about it some more.

Is six too young to learn one of the hard truths in life? I wondered if I should have not been so honest.

Moments later he came back over and said, "Mom, we need to give him some money."

I hesitated. I had $10 on me and it was meant for our dinner that night. With all the holiday spending we'd been doing, I was feeling very tight.

"Well...The money I have is for our dinner..." I started to say. "Ohhh.." he said. Disappointed.

Luckily, I was able to snap out of my own little selfish bubble long enough to realize what exactly I was doing. Teaching my son that we have to look out for ourselves and let the poor figure out their own problems. As if I didn't have a fridge full of food at home we could eat instead of eating out.

I dug into my purse and pulled out my wallet. I handed him the money and he ran over to the lonesome figure in the grass. The man accepted it and smiled. My son came loping back over to me looking gratified.

"That was very nice of you," my sister told him. "He'll be able to have a good dinner tonight."

"He doesn't need dinner," he said. "He needs a house!"

"You're right." I said. It's complicated. If only we could all have the heart of a child, then maybe it wouldn't be so complicated.

art and life

The other day my husband turned on one of those VH1 countdown shows called "100 Most Awesomely Bad Love Songs". Some of the songs they spent over an hour making fun of were:

"I Wanna Go Back" by Eddie Money
"You've Got Me Over Him" by the Jets
"I Would Do anything for Love" by Meatloaf

Just to name a few. The sad thing was that we thought just about every song they listed and tore apart was really good. Some were a little corny, but so what? We were shocked that by today's standards, they were considered dumb. I gawked at the teeny-bopper celebs spouting their opinions and thought: They just don't get it. How can they not like these songs? And then it dawned on me.

OMG. The seventies and eighties have become the good ol' days for me.


Not only were the songs more romantic, movies likeDirty Dancing, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles, still give me butterflies in my stomach. Now there's Mean Girls and hacker movies so vile I have to change the channel on the commercials so my boys don't have nightmares.

Even TV Shows were more wholesome. Where are the Little House on the Prairies? The Cosby Shows? Family Ties? The Muppet Shows, for heaven's sake? I can't think of one show on TV these days that shows a stable, happy family. Especially a family with a strong father figure in it. They are a thing of the past.

And lately I can hardly find a G rated movie to take my kids to. For some reason it seems most screen-writers lack the talent and imagination to make kids' movies entertaining and funny without resorting to crudeness and bathroom humor.

So there's the age old question: Does life imitate art or art imitate life?

Either way, I'm concerned. Because apparently we are becoming a more hardened, rude, shallow society. And I know that Meatloaf would agree.